


The Mobile Mishap

by dogpoet



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Humour, M/M, and by phonesex i mean lewis and hathaway style, mobiles, phonesex, silliness, tech!fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis and Hathaway accidentally go home with each other’s mobiles, a mishap that leads to a few important discoveries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mobile Mishap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asparagusmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/gifts).



> Beta by [ariadnes_string](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string).

When Lewis arrived back at his flat after a long and tiring day involving a pursuit and a scuffle (which had left him with a tear in his trousers and a nice, purple bruise on his left knee), he discovered that in addition to the indignities he’d already suffered, he’d somehow come home with the wrong mobile. Hathaway’s mobile. 

Hell.

Lewis decided beer was the first priority. He fetched one from the fridge, popped the cap off, collapsed on the sofa, then rang James.

“Hi,” James answered after the second ring.

“Have you noticed something off about your phone?” Lewis asked, taking a long pull of Newcastle.

“I’ve noticed it’s mediaeval and badly in need of attention.”

“Mobiles shouldn’t need attention. Don’t go trying to improve mine.” Lewis was likely to get back a device that rang people up of its own accord on their birthdays, or tried to tell him how to cook a roast. Hathaway had set the phone up to begin with, and he knew the security code — it was the same as his own, in case of emergency.

“I promise not to do anything you’ll object to,” Hathaway said. “If Lyn calls, I’ll tell her to call me instead, and you’ll have your precious dinosaur back tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Lewis grumbled. He could hear James huffing with amusement.

“Goodnight.” 

“Night.” Lewis disconnected the call, smiling to himself. 

Later that evening, a mobile rang. Instinctively, Lewis picked the phone up off the coffee table before he recalled it wasn’t his. The screen, however, said _Lewis_. A photo accompanied the name. Lewis stared at the picture for a moment before answering. “Yeah,” he said, neutrally, trying to decide whether to ask about the photo.

“Lyn texted you,” James announced.

Lewis rolled his eyes. Did James really need to be calling him to tell him about texts? “What did she say?” he asked, yawning. He was done in. A warm bed sounded like the thing.

“Matthew built something with wooden blocks.” There was a pause. “It doesn’t look like much from an architectural standpoint, but Matthew may have a creative career ahead of him. Shall I forward it to my phone for you?”

“No need,” Lewis said. “I’ll have a look tomorrow.” He yawned again.

“I didn’t wake you—?”

“Nah. Beast of a day is all.” Lewis was suddenly very fond of James’s voice. “I’ve not got your young bones.”

“Not so young anymore. I’m in bed already.” 

Lewis laughed softly, they chatted for a few minutes, then said goodnight again. As Lewis climbed under the duvet a short time later, he contemplated the photo that had popped up on Hathaway’s phone. Lewis wasn’t so much of a Luddite that he didn’t know you could make someone’s photograph pop up when they rang. It was more the fact that Hathaway had bothered to set it up to occur when Lewis called. And then there was the picture itself. James must have taken it at the pub, sometime when he’d gone to fetch them a second round. Lewis was sitting alone at one of the tables overlooking the river. The sky was a warm, pinkish-orange. It could have been one of a hundred days. James had never mentioned taking the picture, which seemed odd. Unless he hadn’t wanted Lewis to know about it.

*

Next morning, Lewis had a crick in his neck, likely from the acrobatics he’d performed the day before. He was getting too old for chasing criminals. He greeted Hathaway grumpily.

Hathaway slid Lewis’s mobile onto the desk. “All yours.”

Lewis winced as he turned round to get James’s mobile from the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair.

“Not your back again?” James sounded concerned.

“Me neck. It was that scuffle with Easton, no doubt. And he’s dogging me still! Unless you’d like to write the report.” Lewis handed James his mobile.

James looked as though he was about to say something, but then changed his mind. “I’ve got to finish up Rossi.”

“Ah,” Lewis acknowledged as Hathaway crossed the office and sat at his desk. Lewis glanced quickly at his phone. The background was now the picture of Matthew’s creative wooden block building that Lyn had texted to him. Well, that, at least, was a nice change. Lewis shuddered to think what awaited him when he actually tried to use the thing.

“The key is not to be afraid of your mobile,” James said in a lectury voice from the other side of the room.

“I’m not afraid,” Lewis protested, “but the telegraph was working just fine, thanks.”

They exchanged a look, then got to work.

*

Hathaway kindly offered to get their sandwiches for lunch. About ten minutes after he’d left, Lewis was startled out of his wits by music emanating from his mobile. What had happened to his ringtone, the one that blended in with everyone else’s? He stared at the phone for a few seconds. The screen announced that the call was from James, which Lewis could have guessed from the picture of James that was also on the screen.

Lewis answered. “Blimey, what did you do to my phone?”

“I specified a Hathaway ringtone, so you’ll always know it’s me.”

“I can read! I don’t need violins and what have you.”

“Guitar. It’s my band.”

“Yes, I had got that part.” Lewis had gone to a few of James’s concerts. Not his cup of tea, but James had wanted him to go, and Lewis wanted James to be happy.

“The sandwich shop is mysteriously closed. Shall I get you a curry instead?”

Lewis sighed, leaning his head on his palm. His neck hurt, and he was tired. 

“Or you could meet me at the pub.”

James often knew exactly the right thing to say, Lewis thought as he rang off. While walking to the pub, Lewis poked at his mobile. The picture of James was ridiculous. Inspectors didn’t have pictures of their sergeants on their phones! 

Lewis had never looked into the folder labelled _photos_. He’d had no need — there was nothing there. If it was something for a case, it was on Hathaway’s phone, or it was in his email. When he tapped the icon, the new screen showed only a few photos, one of which was Matthew’s blocks, another of which was the picture of James that had appeared when he rang.

There were a number of other photos, too. James had apparently taken quite a few while trying to get the camera angle right. Some pictures cut off part of his face, or they were out of focus. In one, James had a relaxed and open expression, lips parted, a cigarette between the fingers of the hand not holding the mobile. He was lying on what looked like his sofa, tie discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. 

Lewis stopped in the middle of the pavement, suddenly struck by this unexpected image of his sergeant. A flash of heat swept through him, gone as quickly as it had arrived.

James had clearly intended to delete the photos he hadn’t used. The one he’d chosen had been taken after the practice shots, and it showed James looking more like someone’s sergeant. Lewis’s thumb hovered over the option to delete the photo, but at the last moment, he tapped the _home_ button, and let the picture be.

At the pub, James already had a table, and Lewis’s pint was waiting for him. He sank gratefully into his chair. He’d got lucky the day he’d taken James on as his bagman. He remembered Ali saying James couldn’t ask for a better governor, but it went both ways, didn’t it? James was clever and hardworking. Thoughtful, too, Lewis added in his mind, sipping the ale James had ordered without needing to ask which Lewis preferred. 

Lewis tilted his glass towards James in an informal toast. “Thanks.”

“Muscle relaxant,” James said. “Bound to make your neck feel better. At least that’s what we’ll tell Innocent if she sees us skiving off.”

“We’re not skiving off. I need sustenance.” Lewis watched James smile and gaze down into his pint. It was a full minute before Lewis looked away, and then only because James had noticed him staring. 

*

Hathaway insisted on bringing takeaway to Lewis’s flat that evening. Lewis’s neck still ached, and he was too done in to protest. It was time to retire, wasn’t it? But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d been thinking on it more and more. If he wasn’t careful, Innocent would make the decision for him. He dreaded the prospect. 

James arrived in time to keep Lewis from dwelling on the retirement question. A lucky thing. They sat beside one another on the sofa, legs touching. It was how they always sat, but Lewis was more aware of it now. James usually sat on Lewis’s left, but he’d sat on the right this time, no doubt because he’d noticed it hurt Lewis’s neck to look left. 

Lewis found James assessing him.

“What?” Lewis asked.

James shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Oh, go on. You had something to say.”

“Do you think a massage would help?”

Lewis felt himself flush. “What? You mean —” He gestured at his neck. “No bloody idea. I should’ve asked Laura.”

James tensed, and there was a moment when Lewis could see he was deciding something. Then, suddenly, he got up and went to stand behind the sofa. Lewis felt the faintest touch on his neck.

“May I?”

“Yeah, all right,” Lewis said, his voice failing him, the words barely audible. He’d already taken off his tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. James’s fingers slid under Lewis’s collar and began to press gently. It was nice. More than nice. 

Then James hit the sore spot, and Lewis cried out. 

“Sorry.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? To make it feel better?” Lewis had never had a massage in his life, not unless you counted Val rubbing his shoulders on occasion.

“I’ll be gentler,” James said, leaning in a bit, his fingers rubbing pleasantly in the hair at Lewis’s nape. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Lewis hadn’t any idea either. He only knew it felt nice to be touched, and he let James continue on for much too long. 

By the time they got round to dinner, the curry had gone cold.

*

In bed that night, Lewis contemplated his mobile. He tapped the icon for photos, then looked at each picture. He deleted the blurry practice shots James had taken, but, against his better judgment, he kept the one that appeared when James rang. And he kept the other, the one of James holding his cigarette, looking for all the world like he’d just had a good shag.

Lewis felt a rush from looking at the picture again. He knew well enough what that meant. He wasn’t dead, nor was he too old to remember. Granted, it had been a while. He’d never… Not with a bloke. But he wasn’t opposed to the idea. It had just never come up. Maybe if you were fond enough of someone? If they fitted into your life? A picture couldn’t create something that wasn’t already there. 

Lewis had an inkling that James might feel something similar, as daft as that seemed. It was hard to read James, though years as partners had given Lewis a better idea of what was going on in his head. That picture on his phone — maybe he’d wanted the scenery, Lewis didn’t know. But he did know James cared for him. He tended to go above and beyond the call of duty in every possible way. Lewis couldn’t think of any other inspector whose bagman would even _consider_ bringing him curry dinners or giving him massages.

One thing was certain: Lewis had liked the feel of James’s hands on him, and it didn’t bother him at all to admit it.

*

“I’m driving,” Lewis announced as he and James exited the station to tie up a few loose ends on the Easton case.

“Is your neck feeling better?” James asked, opening the door on the passenger side.

“Yeah,” Lewis said, realising it hadn’t bothered him all morning. “Must’ve been that massage.”

They got into the car. Lewis checked his mobile for the address, then set the phone in the cubby beneath the radio. He turned the key in the ignition.

Lewis’s weariness was gone. It was a beautiful morning, and he was filled with a rare fondness for Oxford. And a not-so-rare fondness for his sergeant, who made the job less tiresome. He remembered James saying, _If you go, I go._ Well, if James decided to go, Lewis would go, too. That was all there was to it.

Lewis looked to his left, noting again the absence of pain in his neck. James was poking at his mobile, brow furrowed. 

“What?” Lewis asked, his attention diverted from the road. Then he realised: That was _his_ mobile.

“You —” James said. He set the phone down and looked out the window. “I didn’t mean to leave those on there. For you to see them.”

Lewis had no idea what to say. This was one of the times when James’s thoughts were a mystery to him. They rode on in silence until Lewis turned onto the quiet street where Easton’s sister lived. Lewis pulled over, his heart racing. 

“The address is 70, not 50,” James said, still not looking at Lewis.

Lewis knew it had been a mistake to keep the photo on his phone. James was always handling it, showing Lewis how to do things, glancing at attachments he’d got in his email. Keeping the photo had been tempting fate.

“I don’t know why I kept that one of you,” Lewis said. He dared a glance at James, who looked about ten years younger than he usually did. His ears were a bit pink. Not upset, then. Uncertain.

They often sat together like this, so close, yet distant. Lewis wanted more than that. Had wanted it for a while now, without really knowing it. 

Slowly, as if trying not to frighten off an animal, Lewis reached out and took James’s hand in his. He heard James’s surprised breath, and then, before Lewis was aware of what was happening, James was leaning across the car, pressing his lips to the corner of Lewis’s mouth. It was clumsy, miscalculated, and lovely. 

“I like it,” Lewis admitted when James pulled away. “I couldn’t bear to delete it.”

James turned red as a brick. “I’m glad I forgot, then.”

Lewis gave James’s hand a squeeze. In unspoken agreement, they parted and became their work selves once more. Lewis put the car into gear.

“But do me a favour, Sergeant, and get the picture off my mobile. I use it for work!” Privately, Lewis thought that having the real James was better than any photograph, but the picture had sentimental value because it had got Lewis thinking. And that thinking had led to James kissing him.

“We can send it to your home computer,” James agreed.

“I’ll let you handle that,” Lewis said, and drove on.


End file.
